The Golden Egg
by Llewlyn
Summary: Viktor agonizes over his mistakes in the first Task, but in thinking them over, realizes that he might not have been wholly at fault. Dragon omelet, anyone?


Disclaimer: Viktor and Charlie, all brooms, wands, and curses, as well as setting and dragons and their eggs are the property of JK Rowling.

The Golden Egg

Viktor had the golden egg in his hands, but his sense of triumph was dimmed by the realization that he had been clumsy, and had caused needless destruction. Foolish choice, to blind the dragon. She had not been able to see him, true, but in her furious thrashing she had crushed her own eggs. He had barely escaped with his skin intact, and besides nursing a painful burn, he had had to shave off his long hair. Either that or go around lopsided—not much of a choice, at that. Sitting alone in the dark cool chamber where the rest of the champions had lingered only moments before returning to celebration with friends, he cradled the egg and thought over what had happened once again.

It had started well, he thought. He had his wand, and he knew that he was quicker than anything she could have thrown at him. Having spent his entire young life in dragon-infested country, he was familiar with the warning signs of imminent flame belching—the dragon always looked as if she was going to disgorge a small elephant just before. And it wasn't as if he hadn't had warning—Karkaroff had told him the moment the dragons were brought into the Forbidden Forest. Ample time to prepare. So what had gone wrong?

He had thrown the curse right at her eyes, and then flung a handful of pebbles at the far rock wall—his intention was to distract her long enough to grab the egg and get the hell out. She had immediately turned and fountained white fire at the sound, and then had reared back… and had turned right toward him… but how? Viktor closed his eyes. She had reared back and begun to lash her tail, overbalancing and tipping toward the nest, and the eggs. He had thrown another rock in the opposite direction, and she feinted to follow it… there was a collective breath from the watching crowd. And in the silence of his memory, he heard the click of rock falling on rock. Right behind him. She had targeted it without hesitation and he had barely had time to dive behind a rock before the entire area was engulfed in blistering heat.

From that point, he had only seconds while she recharged to leap out and grab the egg from the nest. And as she followed the sounds of his struggle, she was led right back to her own nest. He flinched in dismay at the memory of the wet smashing of the eggs. And the dragon's clear horror at the recognition of the sound. Such a scream. His chin sunk to his breast, and he closed his eyes. Poorly done. He was ashamed.

And then Harry Potter, who should not have know enough even to find his way to the stadium, had waltzed in and Accioed a broom. His Firebolt, in fact. And had flown to glory. Viktor clenched his hands in rage. Such a simple, perfect solution. And Viktor knew how clumsy he was on the ground compared with being in flight. He always felt so awkward on the ground, and knew he looked it, too. But in the air… that was where he belonged.

He shook his head, and retraced his fragmented thoughts. The click of a rock… thrown. Someone from the stands had tossed a rock into the arena and had undone him. But who would do such a thing? Certainly not anyone from Beaubaxtons. And definitely no one from his own school would do such a thing. Then it had to be someone from Hogwarts. One of Harry Potter's friends? But no, Potter did not seem the murderous type. And he certainly had things well in hand. Another student, then—a vicious prankster who thought to thwart Durmstrang's chances by putting its champion in the hospital wing. Or worse.

A shuffled step startled him out of his dark thoughts. In the door stood a tall red-haired man, whom Viktor recognized as one of the dragon keepers. The man smiled, and nodded to him. "There you are. I've been looking for you." His voice was carefully modulated, as if he was accustomed to being careful not to be overheard.

Viktor's voice, in contrast, was surly and gruff. "Vat do you want? Is Karkaroff looking for me?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. That's not why I'm here." Viktor raised his eyebrows, inviting the man to continue. "I'm Charlie Weasley, one of the dragon handlers. I just wanted you to know that the eggs weren't real. Just in case you thought they were."

A heavy breath escaped Viktor's chest before he could get hold of his emotions. He nodded. "Thank you for telling. Is good to know. I had thought…" He trailed off. Charlie smiled a gentle smile.

"We thought that might happen, and the eggs were too valuable to risk, so we just… Engorgioed chicken eggs. McGonagall did it, actually." He fell silent, and then turned to go, but hesitated, and then turned back. "You were bloody brilliant at the World Cup. I think you must have been born on a broom." Charlie grinned at him, and Viktor's heart lightened a little.

"I vas. And thank you." He attempted a smile, and found it wasn't as difficult as he thought it might be. Charlie smiled back, and then his brow crinkled in confusion. Viktor stood and straightened his shoulders, his troubles momentarily forgotten, and nodded to Charlie as he walked past him into the hall, the egg clutched under his arm. He would be on his guard. But he was not friendless, even here. In a burst of good humour, he undid the latch on the egg right there in the middle of the hall.

And recognized the horrible screeching for what it was, even as students cried out and clapped their hands to their ears all around him. He had heard it before. Living on a leaky, damp, musty ship in the middle of the lake seemed to have at least one advantage, after all. The day was looking up.


End file.
